Saturday, August 11, 2007

Well, I seem to be entering the third quadmester of my pregnancy. I have four different 'seasons' when I am pregnant; the first quadmester is extreme airsickness although I am standing on the ground; the second quadmester is superhuman weight gain, the third is using my body as a personal floatation device (major water retention) and the fourth is the feeling like one of the those chickens you cook in a crockpot. You know the one; nice and tender and when you go to take it out to put on the table the leg you grab with the tongs falls off. That's me; major flexible ligaments. I have some sort of wacky ability to pop all sorts of joints; I consider myself my own chiropractor. I can even pop a bone on top of my foot. So when I'm pregnant parts of my hips and pelvis I thought were one solid mass start to shift around in uncanny ways.

Anyway, I realized that I am in the third quadmester this morning as I was attempting to remove my rings to slather myself in tanning lotion. Nothing worse than a bloated, fat, close-to -40-white pregnant woman I say. And I've heard that tanned skin hides cellulite. And I've got a bridge I'd like to sell you.

Well, really should go. Tough day ahead; funeral for family friend who died of lung cancer. Although I didn't know the man well, I did know his mother a little and I know my husband who is traipsing around the island of Nias (hit by 9.0 earthquake after the Indian Ocean tsunami) looking at the devistation and making a recommendation to CRS for future work there, would want to be there. And it's good for these boys' I am raising, to wear pants for one day in their lives and go be considerate to others.

Then over to bro-in-laws house to be a commercial break in everyday post cancer operation life for a couple of hours. I have to say that all the post op patients I've seen on Grey's Anatomy and House didn't prepare me for this. I'm so mad that with cancer, it seems that sometimes the cure is as bad as the disease. I joke with him that he is still the good looking Richardson brother, no matter what.

Have a good day. If you need a great break and a laugh, check out the book 'Momzillas' - kind of a 'Devil Wears Prada' for us brood hens of the human race set.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Words of Wisdom

Some of my favorite little words of wisdome come from Mass. It is absolutely great to get to listen to a priest who has been creating homilies for decades. These speeches have been fine tuned many times and come from the heart, and can weave together those old and new testament passages with the psalm and the Gospel in ways that I can't imagine.

It reminds me of going to an art museum in Vancouver, B.C. when I was in college. I am a very black and white, take-it-as-it-is person. To visit this museum was so insightful because I was with a friend who could look at those sculptures and really figure out what the artist was saying. What an eye opener for someone like me who looks at a collage and says 'what a nice collage.'

So this past Sunday, it was awfully comforting to hear the readings and the talk discuss how much it doesn't matter how financially stable you are in this world, prepare for the next. This in light of my very sick brother-in-law who is in the hospital for the second week fighting colon cancer. The family is so worried about his wife and four boys. But I can't think of a better family to have worry about you; we are all so generous and giving (yes, even me, if you catch me on the right day!) and I know we can all handle this. I wouldn't exactly call this experience a 'gift', but I think it is a gift to have the grace to see the positive side of something like this. Hopefully we will all be able to do that in our own ways. We are only human, after all.

I'm really sick of the whole cancer thing, actually. A very nice man my husband grew up with just died of lung cancer on Friday. Robby, you will be missed. A great woman who mentored me in my spiritual family at St. Francis in Yucaipa lost her two year battle with cancer a week ago. Pat, you will be missed. An incredible man who worked for my very best friend at my great company lost his valiant battle with pancreatic cancer this past week as well. The one dude I could always depend on for a smile and always have the time for me. The one cool dude who always remembered who I was no matter what neck of the world I had flown in from for a meeting or whatever, who would walk across a crowded hallway and hug me and tell me how nice it was to see me. Ben, you will be missed.

So, as I sit hear trying to offer support, meals, baby sitting service and an ear to my husband's family, I feel so helpless. I want to fix things! I am worried because my husband's maternal grandmother and grandfather both died from cancer, his mom had recurrent breast cancer and his dad had colon cancer. Now, his brother has cancer. I've already scolded his other siblings for not getting breast exams and am finding a way to get colonoscopies covered through health insurance when they aren't 'old enough' yet. Thanks Mr. Beaureaucrat,.. So, as my friend and colleague said to me when I explained my angst, "I guess when you tell your husband to check his butt, you really mean it." Exactly.

So, again, talking about stability and 'having enough', the priest on Sunday told this great joke:

A professor asked his students which man was more satisfied; the man with 10 children, or the man with 10 million dollars. A student raised his hand and answered, "The man with 10 children."

The professor asked why this was his answer.

The student explained, "The man with the 10 children doesn't want any more."

Ha! Tell that to the Duggar family, who I think is kicking our collective parenting asses in the old 'my kids are well-groomed, smart and articulate' categories. Holy cow. Unfortunately I happened to read an article on how important chores are to a child's life the very same day Mrs. Dugger popped out her 16th or 17th child (I've lost count as I'm sure she may have) and that resulted in my oldest sitting on the bathroom floor with a pink sponge scrubbing the linoleum whining about being Cinderella. (Sorry Jared)

Which leads me to another random joke told by another good friend and excellent orator, which is good because he too is a priest:

A boy was getting ready for his first communion and first reconciliation (first confession for you non Catholics out there). His little brother walked into the room and said, "Well, good. Now I can really tell you you can go to hell."

Email me if you don't get it. I'm cracking up!

On a happy note, I am blissfully healthy in my pregnancy finally and gaining all sorts of weight because of this human tape worm and the stress of this cancer crap. Hate all those 'sticks with bellies.' Can't wait to drink a beer.